


Pretty Boy

by CatlixMeowscouty



Category: Funhaus
Genre: Camp AU, M/M, POV Second Person, Songfic, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6967117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatlixMeowscouty/pseuds/CatlixMeowscouty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not your pretty boy anymore..</p><p>(inspired by Sia's Bird Set Free</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy

The boy is gorgeous, with light skin and minimal stubble (‘it’s not a beard’ you can practically hear him yell). His hair is curly, perfect locks of dark hair that capture his face perfectly but his eyes are what you love about him the most, if you could only pick.

They’re beautiful, rings of gold and brown and when the rays hit them just right at sunset you can see flecks of stars reflected in them. Perhaps they were his dreams, once thought of and now gone as both of you are stuck in the camp, not following your dreams.

It takes you months to realize that he is your dream.

So you let him go. You let him leave the camp, stop watching after kids and crafts and start following his dream. You know he goes to LA. You don’t follow, can’t follow because something in your heart screams that you aren’t HIS dream and you know it’s right.

He comes back, eventually but not soon enough. Comes back in a blaze that sparks when you sees his curls, his skin and stubble and it turns into a wildfire when you see his eyes. You realize that night, sitting on a hill with him and sharing stories of the years that you love him.

He says LA was tough and shows you the scars, the broken bones, the shattered dreams to prove it. You just nod and stare, memorizing his face just in case he decides to leave again.

He looks up shyly once the sun has set, leaving only a few fireflies and the embers of a dying fire (you could compare to your heart but you aren’t a fucking poet). You feel his hand reach over and lace fingers with yours. You let him, smiling to yourself. You know it’s not going to end up well. In your experience it never does.

But he asks you to come back to LA with him. He promises he has a job lined up with some big film company and that he can provide enough for an apartment and that he’ll do everything and you can only look softly at him and think about how much he’s changed from the pretty boy you used to know.

Your pretty boy used to tie knots, build campfires and teach kids to rhyme in the shade of giant oak trees. This pretty boy isn’t yours anymore and you know it.

You tell yourself you accept his offer only to never see that desperation in his eyes again.

He kisses you under the moonlight as the last of the embers dies and all you can think is that it was worth the pain and the hurt and the sheer hope that he’d come back because he’s here now and he promises he will be forever.

He makes that promise many times over the years you live with him, as you move from apartment to house and his job moves from coffee fetcher to Lead Actor.

He says the promise at night on the balcony overlooking the city as he slips the ring on your finger and in the afternoon under the great oak you carved your initials in as young hopeful teenagers as you have your first kiss as husband and husband.

Yes, you decide, it was worth it.

He was worth it.


End file.
